Free The Talisman by Stephen King

more till I show you some of what I mean. Wouldn’t do no good. Come on.’
    Speedy put an arm around Jack’s shoulders and led him around the carousel dish. They went out the door together and walked down one of the amusement park’s deserted byways. On their left was the Demon Dodgem Cars building, now boarded and shuttered. On their right was a series of booths: Pitch Til U Win, Famous Pier Pizza & Dough-Boys, the Rimfire Shooting Gallery, also boarded up (faded wild animals pranced across the boards – lions and tigers and bears, o my).
    They reached the wide main street, which was called Boardwalk Avenue in vague imitation of Atlantic City – Arcadia Funworld had a pier, but no real boardwalk. The arcade building was now a hundred yards down to their left and the arch marking the entrance to Arcadia Funworld about two hundred yards down to their right. Jack could hear the steady, grinding thunder of the breaking waves, the lonely cries of the gulls.
    He looked at Speedy, meaning to ask him what now, what next, could he mean any of it or was it all a cruel joke . . . but he said none of those things. Speedy was holding out the green glass bottle.
    ‘That—’ Jack began.
    ‘Takes you there,’ Speedy said. ‘Lot of people who visit over there don’t need nothin like this, but you ain’t been there in a while, have you, Jacky?’
    ‘No.’ When had he last closed his eyes in this world and opened them in the magic world of the Daydreams, that world with its rich, vital smells and its deep, transparent sky? Last year? No. Further back than that . . . California . . . after his father had died. He would have been about . . .
    Jack’s eyes widened. Nine years old? That long? Three years ?
    It was frightening to think how quietly, how unobtrusively, those dreams, sometimes sweet, sometimes darkly unsettling, had slipped away – as if a large part of his imagination had died painlessly and unannounced.
    He took the bottle from Speedy quickly, almost dropping it. He felt a little panicky. Some of the Daydreams had been disturbing, yes, and his mother’s carefully worded admonitions not to mix up reality and make-believe ( in other words don’t go crazy, Jacky, ole kid old sock, okay? ) had been a little scary, yes, but he discovered now that he didn’t want to lose that world after all.
    He looked in Speedy’s eyes and thought: He knows it, too. Everything I just thought, he knows. Who are you, Speedy?
    ‘When you ain’t been there for a while, you kinda forget how to get there on your own hook,’ Speedy said. He nodded at the bottle. ‘That’s why I got me some magic juice. This stuff is special .’ Speedy spoke this last in tones that were almost reverential.
    ‘Is it from there? The Territories?’
    ‘Nope. They got some magic right here, Travellin Jack. Not much, but a little. This here magic juice come from California.’
    Jack looked at him doubtfully.
    ‘Go on. Have you a little sip and see if you don’t go travellin.’ Speedy grinned. ‘Drink enough of that, you can go just about anyplace you want. you’re lookin at one who knows.’
    ‘Jeez, Speedy, but—’ He began to feel afraid. His mouth had gone dry, the sun seemed much too bright, and he could feel his pulsebeat speeding up in his temples. There was a coppery taste under his tongue and Jack thought: That’s how his ‘magic juice’ will taste – horrible .
    ‘If you get scared and want to come back, have another sip,’ Speedy said.
    ‘It’ll come with me? The bottle? You promise?’ The thought of getting stuck there, in that mystical other place, while his mother was sick and Sloat-beset back here, was awful.
    ‘I promise.’
    ‘Okay.’ Jack brought the bottle to his lips . . . and then let it fall away a little. The smell was awful – sharp and rancid. ‘I don’t want to, Speedy,’ he whispered.
    Lester Parker looked at him, and his lips were smiling, but there was no smile in his eyes – they were stern.